Along the rising cinder path
on the rich and green, as the
mizzle falls,
and bluebells hide their
color swaths
and magpies strut to a
dancer’s call.
--Are you askin'? --Ay. --Then I'm dancin'. Say,
can you feel the turbine slice the wind,
like a sky-flower spinning its hope and prayer?
But neither was granted the fallen queen
whose spirit sits upon the cairn.
From where she watched in darkened grace,
Queen of Scots in an ancient wood,
her kindred, cast in battle array
in a sea of guns and pikes and blood,
swept moor and village at Langside Hill. Then,
ambush turned to rout and chase,
till the Regent halted a sacrifice
of the Queen's thousands, as they bore the shame
of a failed assault, and a fateful flight.
--Are you askin'? --Ay. --Then I'm dancin'. Say,
can you feel the turbine slice the wind,
like a sky-flower spinning its hope and prayer?
But neither was granted the fallen queen
whose spirit sits upon the cairn.
From where she watched in darkened grace,
Queen of Scots in an ancient wood,
her kindred, cast in battle array
in a sea of guns and pikes and blood,
swept moor and village at Langside Hill. Then,
ambush turned to rout and chase,
till the Regent halted a sacrifice
of the Queen's thousands, as they bore the shame
of a failed assault, and a fateful flight.
I have had to sleep upon the ground
and drink sour milk--the Queen would tell--
and have been these nights like the owls--
and embroidered secrets in a tearful vale.
She declared herself free of her land's miseries,
when the time came to lay her white neck
on the block,
'twixt the martyr's red robe and the beheader's black work.
And her cowering lapdog, and the hundreds
who watched,
were drenched in the blood
of the dead queen's skirts.
© Copyright 2014 by Cary
Please share your travel
experiences and impressions by clicking on the word ‘comments’ below. Alternatively, send your comments to the
author directly at dinosasha@juno.com.
Visit Travelwalk: Poems and Images,
published by Hartley-Wildman, April 2014
